


reality is a lovely place (but i wouldn’t want to live there)

by Biscay



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 00:06:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biscay/pseuds/Biscay
Summary: Is going on time-travelling space adventures with your crush a way to process your emotions or avoid them? Yaz thinks it’s probably a fine line.





	reality is a lovely place (but i wouldn’t want to live there)

The Doctor must be able to fly the TARDIS alone. Clearly she doesn’t like to, but while the Doctor’s guarded about her distant and varied past, Yaz knows that there have been long periods where she’s travelled - and presumably piloted - solo. 

The symbolism of having all of Team TARDIS pulling levers and flicking switches around the console as the Doctor joyfully yells instructions is obvious. But as she twists a crank that makes a pleasing _urrr-uhh_ sound but doesn’t seem to actually do anything, Yaz questions its practicality. 

“You’re doing brilliantly,” the Doctor shouts, adjusting a dial with one hand and holding a lever steady with the other, “Graham, I need just a touch more oomph - here we go, coming in for landing now!”

Despite their efforts, the TARDIS is still turbulent, and Yaz is grateful she’s never been prone to motion sickness. Across the console Ryan clings to a railing, looking paler than she's ever seen him. Before Yaz can comment, the Doctor calls her name. 

“You can leave the delta turbine now - great job, by the way - I need you over here, can you press that button?”

The Doctor, both hands occupied, gestures with a bob of her head to a button directly in front of herself. Yaz blinks. There’s no way to reach it, with the Doctor positioned as she is, without pressing up right against her. 

“Can you squeeze in?” the Doctor asks, raising an elbow and indicating to the small amount of space in front of herself while keeping her hand on the lever, “I can get it with my nose but with all this shaking I’d be risking my front teeth, and I quite like this face as it is.”

So does Yaz, and the thought of bodily harm to the Doctor on her account is enough for her to tamp down on awkwardness, duck under the Doctor’s arm, and press the button. 

The TARDIS immediately jerks, then stills, and Yaz finds herself pinned between the centre console and the Doctor’s body. It’s not a kind thought, but Yaz is grateful that Ryan’s too busy keeping his breakfast down to notice their position or the blush she can feel burning across her face.

“Perfect!” the Doctor laughs. Her breath catches Yaz’s ear and makes goosebumps rise along her arms. Satisfied with their landing, the Doctor releases her grip on the console and gives Yaz’s shoulders a playful squeeze that definitely borders on a hug. Yaz freezes, but the Doctor doesn’t notice as she moves across the TARDIS to study a monitor displaying patterned concentric circles that Yaz can’t read but knows is Gallifreyan. She takes a deep breath in an attempt to regain equilibrium and Graham - preferable to Ryan because he has the social skills not to say anything - gives her a look.

It’s definitely not the first time the Doctor’s singled her out. At first Yaz assumed that the Doctor’s tendency to split the group Doctor-Yaz and Ryan-Graham was an unsubtle way to get the granddad and grandson to bond, but with every new solar system or century they explore, Yaz feels more certain the the Doctor genuinely enjoys her company. That the Doctor thinks she’s special.

The button did seem pretty necessary to their landing, and an impartial judge would have picked Yaz over Graham - who comes with a broad array of skills but can barely manage a smartphone - and Ryan, who was more likely to throw up on the button than press it. Would Graham or Ryan have gotten the near-hug after though? Yaz isn’t sure.

The Doctor’s still focused on the screen, brow furrowed. 

“What’s the damage, Doc?” asks Graham.

Yaz is a seasoned enough TARDIS traveller to know that, while they might land where or when the Doctor intends, the odds of her getting both time and place exactly right are more remote than some galaxies.

“Just a sec-” the Doctor says, before bounding out of the police box. Yaz, Graham and Ryan follow, and the city down from the grassy hill where they’re parked definitely looks like 21st Century Sheffield.

The Doctor whoops. “Back before teatime! Well, _a_ teatime. Pretty much right.”

* * *

It’s been a while since they’ve been home, and Yaz feels warm at the prospect of seeing her family; the idea of spending time with them infinitely more appealing now she’s not permanently living with them all. 

The sunshine and fresh air are invigorating, especially after an indeterminate amount of time in the TARDIS (hours? Days? A week? Time feels strangely liquid in the blue box, a phenomenon Yaz privately thinks is a combination of being in a literal time machine and close proximity to the Doctor), and adventures on a sulphuric planet in perpetual twilight before that. Yaz is glad she decided to wear her hair loose, enjoying the soft wind blowing through it, as the four of them make their way down the hill towards the residential tower blocks of the city where she and Ryan grew up. The Doctor’s in a good mood too; bobbing about with a spring in her step, but taking care not to decapitate any dandelions on the grassy path with her chunky boots.

“Do you think we can go on a tram later?” the Doctor asks, “I’m properly in the mood to ride a tram.”

Yaz is about to say of course they can go tram-hopping later, but at the same time, Yaz and Ryan’s phones, forgotten in pockets, beep as they reconnect to signal on Earth.

Yaz’s heart drops as she looks at the date displayed on her phone and sees that it’s May 2020. While it’s only been a few weeks since they last saw home, and, despite feeling like a lifetime, only a few months since they started travelling with the Doctor, over a year of Earth time has passed since they were last in Sheffield. 

Ryan abruptly stops, eyes glued to the date on his phone, and Graham nearly walks into him. 

“We’ve missed her anniversary.”

Yaz’s heart clenches in sorrow for Ryan and Graham. The Doctor scrunches her nose in confusion, opens her mouth to ask a question. Yaz catches the Doctor’s eye and, in the unspoken language they’ve developed, conveys that she’ll explain later. The Doctor closes her mouth. 

“We weren’t here for it,” Ryan says, and there’s not an ounce of anger at the Doctor because that’s not what Ryan’s like. Just sadness and disappointment at himself, “it’s like we forgot.”

“Ryan, it’s not like that,” Graham says, putting an arm around Ryan’s shoulders, and through her sadness Yaz realises how far grandfather and grandson have come together in much less than a year of real-time, knows how happy it would make Grace. 

“I need to go and see her,” Ryan says.

“I’ll come with you,” says Graham, giving Ryan’s shoulder a squeeze before releasing him. He turns to the Doctor and Yaz, “we’ll meet back up with you two later, yeah?”

“Course,” says Yaz.

The Doctor watches them leave, then turns to Yaz.

“We’re a little late, but I promise none of you have been reported missing or anything,” she says, bouncy mood replaced with panic at a problem that can’t be solved with a sonic screwdriver, “Ryan and Graham were more sad than when they left, but more time’s passed. I thought it was time that helped with human grief - it’s my fault, isn’t it?”

If she's been gone for over a year she's in so much trouble. The happy reunion she'd imagined just became a hundred times more awkward, but her family loves her and they'll get over it. And anyway, if she's really been gone that long it's not like taking an extra hour to make sure the Doctor's okay will make any difference.

“C’mon Doctor,” says Yaz, “let’s go get a cuppa.”

* * *

It’s not Tea At Yaz’s, but Yaz thinks avoiding the social minefield of the Khan family while the Doctor’s in an emotional state is probably best for all parties. She guides the Doctor down the hill, winds her through the residential streets, and into a welcoming, rough-around-the-edges cafe on a corner.

The Dinosaur Cafe is where she and her friends came to study for their GCSEs over breakfast, where she went on a first date with a girl when she was 17, where she sometimes picks up a coffee to go if she’s working late. She doesn’t know how best to reassure a beautiful time-travelling alien, but hopes that the familiar surroundings will give her a home-ground advantage.

“Eh up Yaz,” says Rajindra, the proprietor, “what’ll you have?”

The Doctor peruses the menu and cheers up a little about the prospect of a breakfast containing something called black pudding until Yaz explains what it is. In the end the Doctor opts for a carton of Ribena, Yaz orders a tea, and they split a cheese toastie.

* * *

Yaz slides them into a booth against the far wall; the cafe’s mostly empty, and Rajindra’s eternal playlist of 80’s pop means she’s confident they won’t be overheard.

Tea too hot to drink, she fiddles with a sugar sachet, wishing that Graham were here, who would surely do a much better job of explaining the intricacies of human psychology. Rationally, she shouldn’t worry - she was top of her academy class in de-escalation and conflict resolution - but strangers or the usual suspects from the estate are one thing; the Doctor is something else entirely. She looks up, sees the Doctor nibbling nervously on her sandwich, and knows that all she has to be is honest. 

“Time is so linear for humans. Our lives are so small compared to yours, we need things - birthdays, anniversaries, religious festivals - as reminders.”

“Short,” says the Doctor very seriously, poking her straw into the juice box.

“What?”

“Your lives are short, but never, ever small.”

“As time goes on, we get further away from specific points - big, historical ones and personal ones too. And we try and keep the people inside us, but having a day to think about them helps make sure you’re remembering them best.”

“Never been big on anniversaries, me,” says the Doctor, putting down her drink and focusing fully on Yaz. Just being in the same room as the Doctor is an intense experience, and having her full attention makes Yaz’s pulse race as she holds eye contact, “impossible to keep track of in the TARDIS anyway, but maybe I’m a coward. It’s hard to stand still and look back like that. Never fully understood how humans can do it.”

Yaz suspects she has an embarrassing honesty switch set permanently to On when she’s around the Doctor. “You’re the least cowardly person I’ve ever met.”

The Doctor offers a sad smile. “You don’t know that much about me.” 

Yaz knows that's objectively true, but can’t find words to explain that, while she might not know every detail of the Doctor’s impossibly long, painful past, she feels more connected to her than anyone else in her life. “I know that your people - the ones you lost - must have been amazing,” 

Throughout their travels the Doctor’s talked about changing faces, her burning home planet, and being thousands of years old. But it’s not until the Doctor watches her from across the table, barely blinking, that Yaz appreciates just how much the Doctor has lived and lost. 

“They were,” the Doctor says, still with the sad smile she has sometimes.

Yaz gives the Doctor a warm hug when they’re back outside, just before they part; Yaz to Park Hill, the Doctor back to the TARDIS. The Doctor holds her close, her height allowing Yaz’s face to press against her neck, where she can feel the Doctor’s strange, comforting heartbeat.

They part reluctantly. 

“I’ll be back soon,” Yaz promises, “and I’ll tell my mum you said hi.”

* * *

Seeing her family goes as well as can be expected, given how long she's been away in earth time. They're still suspicious, and Yaz loves them all with her entire heart but knows they'll never understand why she needs to travel with the Doctor. After two days of catching up and sorting things out, Yaz finds herself, rucksack on her back and suitcase in hand, back at the TARDIS, unaccountably nervous as she knocks twice on the wooden door. 

The door unlocks with a click and swings open. The TARDIS knows and trusts her, the Doctor has explained, but Yaz still can’t get her head around the blue box's sentience. As soon as she crosses the threshold, the Doctor looks up - from a game of what looks like a cross between chess and draughts that she’s playing against herself - with a huge grin, “you’re back!”

“Yep,” says Yaz, holding up her bag a little, “brought some stuff, hope you don’t mind.”

“If there’s one thing the TARDIS has, it’s room,” says the Doctor, “and ants, but only below deck five and we shouldn’t try and think about them.”

“Ants?”

“Left an open bag of jelly babies down there about 600 years ago, you’d be surprised how quickly they take over. Anyway, what’s with all your stuff?” the Doctor’s expression sobers as she looks Yaz up and down, “everything alright with your family?”

Until recently, Yaz had thought one of the universe’s constants was the linearity of time. Now she knows better and thinks it’s the Doctor’s protectiveness. “Honestly, everything’s fine. It’s just- my sister’s been trying to get my room since we were kids, and now with me gone for months at a time, it’s only fair. Only her room is tiny, so I sorted out my things and thought I’d just bring some of it here. That’s not weird is it?”

The Doctor relaxes and a smile widens across her face. “Weird? It’s brilliant.”

“Really?”

“Course. The TARDIS is your home - if you want it to be - and you should have your things here.”

Tears prick in the corner of Yaz’s eyes, and she blinks them away, not wanting -or even able- to explain to the Doctor why the concept of the TARDIS as home makes her so emotional.

“I’ll still have a room with my family, but it’s not where I want to be, you know?” The Doctor tilts her head to the side and Yaz sighs, “my mum thinks it’s weird.”

The Doctor nods thoughtfully. “Najia made a very awesome human, but she’s not always right about everything.”

“I think I needed to hear that,” Yaz says, leaning against the centre console, “I love her, but it’s been two years of her-time and she’s still not forgiven me for running off and losing my job.”

“I’m sorry you lost your job.”

“Don’t be. I worked hard, but I don’t miss it. It was the obvious career option - I’ve just always wanted to help people.”

“That’s why I like you, Yasmin Khan,” says the Doctor, and Yaz knits her fingers together tightly to stop herself reacting more obviously to the compliment. There’s no need for concern; the Doctor’s staring up at the honeycomb-lights of the TARDIS. “You’ve got your police uniform, I’ve got my police box. Both using them to do our best to protect people, right?”

“Right,” says Yaz, a strange feeling rushing through her that takes a few moments to identify as relief. Since she was a child, her parents, mistrustful of authorities, expressed concern and confusion over her ambition to become a police officer. When she joined the force she hoped to be among comrades but found most of her colleagues either looking for glory or content with the drudgery of paperwork. For the first time in her life, Yaz feels like someone really, truly understands what drives her to help and protect others. 

“Feels like I do a lot more good with you than when I was stuck doing traffic.”

“Stuck doing traffic?” the Doctor scrunches her face, “is that like being stuck in traffic?”

“No,” Yaz laughs, “it’s a bottom-of-the-rung job. Mostly making sure people don’t park their vehicles where they’re not supposed to.”

The Doctor smiles at that; not the big beaming expression that makes Yaz think of supernovas, or the twinkly grin when she figures out something especially clever - it’s smaller, but lights up the Doctor’s eyes. “Don’t think I’ve ever parked my vehicle where I’m supposed to. Not once in two thousand years.”

Not for the first time, Yaz wonders how this incredible woman who’s seen civilisations rise and fall can look at two-year probationer Yasmin Khan like she’s the most amazing thing she’s ever seen. Yaz knows she’s looking back at her in the same way.

“I’d better keep my eye on you then.” Yaz says.

* * *

Time passes strangely in the TARDIS.

They unpack Yaz’s bags into the room that’s become hers; down the main corridor, first left, then second left, then fourth on the right. It sounds complicated, but Yaz never has difficulty finding it, as if the TARDIS is guiding her there each time. As she hangs up her things, the Doctor has questions about women’s clothing - mostly about pockets, but a good few about bra clasps - that Yaz manages to answer without embarrassing herself too much. The Doctor discovers an old shirt Yaz bought for Sheffield Pride 2015 - she’d gone by herself, it was a bit of a bust - and gets so excited about the rainbow print that Yaz insists she keeps it.

The Doctor teaches her the rules to her mixed-up boardgame; Yaz loses every time, but being so close to the Doctor’s joy at having someone to play with makes it hard to feel like anything other than a victor.

The kitchen in the TARDIS - or the one that the Doctor and Yaz use on this occasion, because there’s almost definitely more - is incredible. The space is so large that Yaz can make her Nani’s moong dal and chana chaat across one long counter while the Doctor sits atop the granite-topped island across from her, swinging her legs. She offers to help, but Yaz isn’t sure the Doctor and sharp objects is a good combination, so other than igniting the hob with her sonic, she just watches and, when the dishes are ready, happily eats. The Doctor declares it better than fondue from the Maffei cluster, which Yaz assumes is high praise. As she helps herself to dinner - the Doctor’s right, it’s not bad - Yaz considers that she’s never cooked for anyone outside her family before, and wonders what her mother would think. 

She knows her Nani would approve.

* * *

“You’ll absolutely love this, I promise,” says the Doctor, “there’s a botanical garden twice the size of Bristol called Sinclair Park. It’s magnificent.”

“Did you say Sinclair Park?” asks Ryan.

“Named after Vita Sinclair, one of Andromeda’s finest horticulturists! She helped terraform Freya IV with plants that stabilised oxygen levels, and her soil chemistry research determined what crops were grown when the planet was founded. And she’s your cousin…” the Doctor counts on her fingers, “twenty-three times removed.”

“Awesome.”

Yaz isn’t sure how long she and the Doctor spent alone together in the TARDIS, parked up on a hill on the outskirts of Sheffield. Ryan and Graham returned eventually, in much better spirits than they left, and Yaz pieces together from context that they’ve only been gone for a few days.

It felt like much longer, but passed in an instant. 

Graham’s brought some of his things from his and Grace’s house too, and Yaz is glad; that the TARDIS is starting to feel like home for all of them, and that Grace is still with them. She hopes Ryan feels the same way. 

Obviously determined to make up for the upset she caused, the Doctor has promised them a guided tour of a human colony on Freya IV, a goldilocks planet on the far side of the Andromeda galaxy. 

“Okay team, get ready!” the Doctor shouts as Yaz, Ryan and Graham take their places 

The Doctor throws a switch and Yaz braces herself for the peak-of-a-rollercoaster sensation that accompanies the TARDIS’ dematerialisation, but instead of the familiar vworp sound, a deep groan churns from within the console. The noise cuts out entirely a second later, taking the lights with it, plunging them into total darkness.

“Doctor-?” says Ryan. 

“Nothing to worry about!” insists the Doctor, footsteps thumping as she runs around the TARDIS.

Graham’s voice comes from across the room. “We’re not going to run out of oxygen or anything are we? Gravity’s not about to get turned off?”

Yaz can picture exactly the expression the Doctor’s making as she says “we’re still on earth, Graham.”

“And this box obviously obeys all laws of earth physics.”

“Sarcasm’s not gonna make the power come back on any faster.”

There’s some clanking, metal hitting metal, then the buzz and familiar golden light of a sonic screwdriver. A few expectant seconds of absolute darkness pass, then about a tenth of the lights in the wall begin to faintly glow. 

“Are we back online?” Ryan asks. 

“Emergency lighting,” the Doctor explains, “we’ve got basic functions, but we’re not going anywhere yet. Think something’s been up since she destabilised on Devastation, that last landing wasn’t right. I’m gonna need to dig a little deeper and it could take a while.”

“How much of a while?” asks Graham.

“Ryan,” the Doctor says, after a moment’s consideration, “Yaz and Graham have brought some bits and pieces for their rooms in the TARDIS - is there anything you’d like to bring?”

“Uh - yeah, a couple of things,” Ryan turns to Graham, “I’ve got some stuff at yours. But I - could probably use a hand.”

“I’ll come and help you carry things.” says Graham.

“I’m sorry about all this,” says the Doctor, holding her welding helmet under one arm, “you can pop there and back without missing anything here.”

Yaz once again finds herself alone with the Doctor, who flashes her a grin before pulling on her helmet.

“Need a hand?” she offers. 

“Never gonna say no to that,” says the Doctor, and Yaz’s heart does cartwheels at the validation, “can you pass me the one out of that box that looks like a wrench on one end?”

Yaz holds up a tool that does admittedly look like a wrench on one end, but she privately feels the other end, which is luminescent green, is more distinctive. “This one?”

The Doctor reaches out her hand, “ta.”

* * *

“Well,” says the Doctor later, over a pot of tea and plate of jammy dodgers, a curiously human break not unlike what she and her dad might have after an afternoon assembling IKEA furniture. “I think you deserve a badge for TARDIS maintenance after all that.”

“Ryan’s gonna be so jealous. You don’t have an actual badge system, do you?”

“I definitely should,” says the Doctor thoughtfully, “but a) you now know more about the inner workings of a TARDIS than any other human, and b) the TARDIS really, really likes you now. That’s not bad, is it?”

Yaz looks at the dimly-lit console and silently thanks the TARDIS for dropping the Doctor into her life. “No, it’s not.”

The Doctor munches the last biscuit as Yaz finishes her tea, “shall we try getting her back online?”

Yaz nods. “Just let me know what to do.”

Together - and this time Yaz is certain that a second pilot isn’t necessary, the Doctor just wants someone (her?) to share it with - they pull a lever, and instantly the rest of the lights blink on. Yaz closes her eyes against the sudden brightness, and can hear the deep whoosh and thrum she thinks of as the TARDIS’ heartbeat. 

When she opens her eyes, the bright lights look like a halo behind the Doctor. She’s smiling, at their success generally and at Yaz specifically, and the hundreds of tiny lights reflected in her eyes look like stars.

Yaz is certain she’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

The Doctor does a quick scan with her sonic and beams at the result. “We absolutely smashed it. Ooh, not sure if I like that. We did it - that’s better. Should we high-five? Wait, nobody high-fives anymore.” Her face scrunches in disappointment. “I ruined the moment Yaz, I’m sorry.”

Yaz’s embarrassing honesty switch is still set firmly, irretrievably, to On.

“I love you, you know.”

The Doctor drops her sonic screwdriver.

“I mean, I’m in love with you.” Yaz stops her hands shaking by clenching them into fists at her sides, but she’s still concerned her legs might go out from under her. “I wanted you to know so I can stop worrying about it slipping out when we’re off somewhere in mortal danger. Or in front of the boys.”

“Yaz-”

“It doesn’t have to change anything. I mean, you probably knew already, I just-” Yaz starts, then sighs, “you’re the first person to ever really understand me. My parents try, which is more than anyone at school ever did - but I always felt out of place. Until you.”

“You invited me for tea,” says the Doctor, gesturing at herself, “socially awkward alien, round to your parents’, when we barely knew each other. You understood me, too.”

“I didn’t want you to leave.”

“I didn’t want to go.”

And there’s the smile that makes Yaz think of supernovas. She smiles in return, free from the weight of her secret. Nothing’s changed, really - she’s sure she didn’t tell the Doctor anything she didn’t already know - but she’s not keeping anything from her now, and the thought makes her giddy.

“I love you, too,” says the Doctor, as a statement of fact, and Yaz is certain that if she was holding a sonic she’d have dropped it too. “Thought it was really obvious.”

Yaz opens her mouth but can’t form words, so the Doctor continues, “I mean, I love Ryan and Graham, but I’m not in love with them. You alright Yaz?”

“Yeah,” she manages, pulling herself together, still concerned about the stability of her legs, “it’s just - unexpected.”

“Why?” asks the Doctor, like it’s the strangest suggestion she’s ever heard.

“Because you’re you. You’ve got all of time and space at your feet, you’re incredible. And you... picked me.”

“Of course I picked you, Yasmin ‘Yaz to my friends’ Khan. I only travel with the best.”

There’s a knock on the door, and the TARDIS gives them a few moments to compose themselves before the doors open to admit Ryan and Graham. 

“Here’s the rest of the best,” the Doctor says, waving them over. 

“Got it working then?” Ryan says, taking off a backpack and looking up at the lights.

“You know it,” says the Doctor, delighted at having all her team back together. She picks up her sonic and looks at it thoughtfully, “go get your stuff sorted and come back when you’re ready - we should have a better flight this time.”

* * *

“Want some company?” Yaz asks, knocking on Ryan’s door. The door, already ajar, swings open to reveal Ryan sitting on his bed, holding a photo frame. The bags are half-unpacked, half-all over the floor.

“Hi Yaz,” he says, looking up. 

“Everything alright?” she asks, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. 

Ryan shrugs and sets the frame on his bedside table. Yaz can see that it holds two pictures; one of a smiling Grace, and one of a younger woman Yaz has the faintest childhood memories of seeing at the school gate.

Ryan looks at Yaz looking at the pictures. “Do you think this is what we should be doing?” he asks, gesturing vaguely to the TARDIS around them, “I never expected to see or do any of this stuff, it’s unbelievable - but part of me feels like we’re running away.”

It’s something Yaz has thought about - her family has mentioned it once, twice, several times since she’s been home. She's asked herself each time they come back to Sheffield and not just her family flat but the whole of planet earth feels more like a waypoint than home. If Ryan had asked her just an hour ago she might have felt uncertain, but Yaz knows now that being on the TARDIS has made her braver than she thought she could be.

“You’re not running away from your problems though,” she says, hoping Ryan will understand, “you’re still working through everything; getting to know Graham, processing your dad and your gran - just on a time-travelling spaceship instead of in a warehouse. I’d pick the spaceship every time.”

He considers her advice, then nods. “When did you get so wise?”

“Ryan, please. I’ve always been wise.”

“Nah, I think it’s all the time you’ve been spending with the Doctor,” Ryan raises his eyebrows, “she’s been _influencing_ you.”

Yaz splutters, helpless against the blush that creeps up her neck, and Ryan cheers, “I knew it.”

“All right, you’ve got three seconds to stop laughing,” she says in her most authoritative police officer voice, standing up from the bed and gesturing to the mess around them, “or you’re getting no help putting any of this stuff away.”

* * *

The Doctor was right; their landing on Freya IV is possibly their smoothest yet, and Yaz feels a little proud, like her assistance - even in a mostly tool-passing capacity - might have contributed.

“Absolutely perfect!” says the Doctor, bounding over to the door and beckoning for them all to follow, “we’ve arrived in- well, it’s like their October, in that it’s their tenth month, but they’ve got twenty-eight months in their calendar, so that means nothing. But it _does_ mean-”

The Doctor flings open the TARDIS doors to reveal a stunning night sky, inky black shot through with giant ribbons of orange and electric blue.

“The eastern lights! Slightly north-eastern to be exact; this planet has a weird polarity.” The Doctor gestures at the sky, “this guy should stick around all night, plus the park’s open all hours and I promise you there’s no better backdrop.”

As usual, the Doctor is right. The garden is magnificent, would be under any conditions, but as they walk through a giant biodome filled with beautiful alien plants, the dome’s glass reflects the aurora in every colour.

The Doctor leads the way; the garden is busy but not crowded, and there are so many twists and turns that Yaz is amazed she knows where she’s going.

“Presenting,” says the Doctor, as they arrive in front of a large wooden building covered with purple vines, “the Sinclair Park museum and information centre.”

Ryan’s face lights up, "this is amazing."

Taking out his phone, he snaps a few pictures of the outside of the building, and he and Graham head inside.

Once more - other than small groups of local tourists milling about - they’re alone.

“How are you doing, Yaz?” the Doctor takes one hand from her coat pocket and offers it, almost shyly. Yaz has held the Doctor’s hand half a dozen times before; their natural instinct when faced with peril is to reach for each other and cling fast. But this is the first time she’s been presented with the Doctor’s hand, a conscious choice that she can take or refuse. The thoughtfulness from the Doctor, usually oblivious of or confused by human social niceties, makes Yaz’s heart skip as she takes her hand. 

She takes a moment to appreciate the sensation, holding hands while not running from, or foolishly towards, danger. Yaz’s sister always said hands betray a person’s age, but as she strokes her thumb against the Doctor’s, Yaz isn’t sure that’s true. There’s calluses and dry skin, from various hands-on engineering work, and the Doctor has definitely never heard of moisturiser, but it’s the perfect imperfections that make everything - them, improbably, in the middle of a garden a galaxy away from earth, below curtains of rainbow light - feel real.

Yaz looks up from their hands at the Doctor. “I’m doing great.”

“What are you smiling at?”

“I moved in and said I love you in the space of a few days,” Yaz laughs, at the absurdity of it, and because saying it out loud reminds her it’s not a dream, “feels like we’re moving fast.”

“Moving fast?” says the Doctor, “fast is travelling three hundred thousand kilometres an hour through a space vortex, with a spinny landing that nearly made Ryan throw up. This, on the other hand, is perfect.”

“Nearly perfect,” says Yaz thoughtfully, stepping forward, reaching out with her free hand and running gentle fingers through the Doctor’s hair, then, feather-light, tracing along her jaw.

The Doctor smiles as realisation dawns. She leans in and Yaz meets her halfway. The kiss is gentle and soft, but Yaz stands on tiptoes to get a better angle, to get more, and the Doctor makes a noise that must be the most amazing thing on this planet.

There’s a loud cough nearby, obviously aimed at them, and Yaz pulls back to see a small group of planetary natives openly staring. 

“Whoops,” says the Doctor, an incredibly pleasing pink flush across her cheeks. “Forgot. Not very publically affectionate, the Freyans.”

“Ideal place for a first date, then.”

“I thought-” begins the Doctor, and Yaz takes her hand again, stops her train of thoughts with a kiss to her cheek. One woman squeaks at the scandalous display, but the rest of the crowd has already moved along. 

“I’m teasing you. This - all of it - has been incredible.”

“The night’s not over yet. There’s a lake with carp the size of dolphins, an amazing sugarberry tart they only sell in aurora season, and the museum and information centre is actually extremely well-reviewed. What sounds good?”

“Same as before,” says Yaz, “same as always. More time with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! apologies for any mistakes, this hasn't been beta-read (and I haven't actually seen every ep of the new series because iplayer hates me personally).
> 
> I'm pea-green on tumblr if you want to say hi :)
> 
> ps. this is my second fic with an owl city lyrics title, I need you to know I’m suitably ashamed.


End file.
